Some Kind of Fantasy
by musicahumana
Summary: TinManSGA. The suns are setting in the OZ, and a new darkness is rising, devastating and swift. A brutal storm rips Colonel Sheppard's team apart, and they must fight not only for each other, but for that vibrant world that rests over the rainbow. CDG.RK.
1. Chapter 1: Aluminium

Chapter 1: _Aluminium_

"Sure, but the Vincus know they've got no right to ask for that much."

"Right or not it doesn't matter. They make the best firearms in the O.Z. and they know it. So I've likely got to pony up the gold and get what I can."

Grumming nodded with a grissled rumble and, a few seconds later, walked around the bar to serve another round of drinks to the card game who'd parked themselves noisily near the wall. Wyatt Cain turned to look over his shoulder briefly, watching but not really interested as the barkeep took a few seconds to straighten the colorful Meekoak plaques that lined that side of the _Aluminium_, a run-down but well-stocked pub that catered to Central City's Tin Men.

The pungent whiskey in his hand again caught his attention, and he took a burning swig, letting himself feel the fire as it washed down his throat. There had to be a way he could talk those yellow gunsmiths down….

As he tried the various options in his mind, unconsciously sorting through the collection of multi-colored bottles behind the bar, a raucous conversation from somewhere in the vicinity of the card table broke through his thoughts.

"Yeah, no, I'm tellin' the truth 'ere, ain't I? Kipper 'ere can tell you too, can't 'e? She walks up to the Constable, all regal like, with that brown hair curlin' down her back like a lover's do, and she puts 'er hands on 'is shoulders. An' I swear, by my honor as an off'cer an' a rogue, there was tears comin' down 'er pretty face…."

Without warning, the whiskey in his blood convulsed wildly in his heart; Cain knew the lady and wished he were anywhere but in hearing range of this tale.

"…An' she leaned forward, like she was gonna kiss 'im, like, and opened 'er mouth. If it weren' so disturbin' it would'a been erotic, yeah? An' this whisp, kinda like a cloud, thinner than smoke but def'nitely _there_, it floated from 'is mouth to 'ers. Watching it turned me blood cold, din'n't Kipper…cold as ice. And the Constable…."

He recognized what they were discussing immediately, and the familiar torment of disgust, hope, and shame violently assaulted his stomach. The Constable Yörik, former Lord of the Nurivians, and, more recently, Consort to the Queen of the O.Z., had been caught in a salacious affair. According to tradition, a sentence of death had been passed upon him, and it was no ordinary end. Had he merely been a traitor to the crown, he would have received a kindly bullet and been sent on his two-timing way to the afterlife. But he had not only betrayed the queen's trust, he had betrayed her most personal confidence and honor, and the law required a very intimate vindication for any consort who strayed. The events had come and gone an annual ago, but the story had the makings of legend.

Cain hadn't been there. His son had given him the details. And though the queen's actions were profoundly disturbing, he felt a sort of righteous vindication that bowed his face in shame. The Constable had been an idiot to cheat; he might not have known the exact consequences of his actions beforehand, but he must have realized that messing around on the queen would come with a heavy price.

What he couldn't wrap his wits around, beyond all else, was how a man could ever consider the queen to be anything less than the most precious treasure in the wide O.Z. He took another swig of the whiskey to obstruct his thoughts, frowning. Best not go down that road.

"Sure 'e did! 'E fell dead on the floor, gray as a week-old potato and stiffer than a you-know-what. The queen, she just turned an' glided 'erself away, leavin' all us Tinners ta…."

Cain was taken aback when he felt a pang of worry for the queen; the long-time effort of stifling his errant heart had left him, by and large, incapable of considering her own condition. He understood her well enough to know that she would have fought such an inhumane sentence with every ounce of fire in her heart, and that carrying out the decree meant that she would mourn not only for a lost lover, but for her own soul. He, well, he had been a Tin Man a long time; he had certainly come to a dubious sort of terms with what must be done in the name of justice. But the queen? No, to his knowledge, this was the first time she had been made to bear such a heavy weight, and he found it was a burden he wished he could carry for her.

A question was mumbled by another man at the card table.

"Did she put up a fight! Oh, she put up a fight, alrigh', din'n't she, Kipper? Well…Kipper, ya woul'n't know, I guess. I heard this from one o' the Tinners in the upper quarters, meself. That witch called 'er mummy, the Queen Mother Lav'nder 'erself, all the way from Finaqua and yelled loud 'nuff for the whole floor ta hear.

"'I won' do it! I won'!'" The drunkard gave a terrible impression of a woman's petulant voice. "'I don' care what 'e done ta me, Mummy, but I won' take 'is life, an' not in that 'orrible way!' She fair had the guard ready to restrain 'er, 'case she needed it, she was ragin' so bad. But her mum, no, she looked at 'er calmly and told 'er like it was. She said there was never no need for the bloody law since it be made so many years before, but that there was no thing that could be done for it now. If she went and kept changin' laws when she din'n't like 'em, like she done when she first took the Em'rald Garland on 'er 'ead, the land'd stop trustin' 'er, she said, like she'd become some sort o' tyrant.

"'An' what would _this_ make me, mummy?' she asked. 'I'd be worse than a tyrant, I be doin' murder!' Her mum said, no, dear, she be doin' justice. And then the two, they broke down in women's tears, an' they sobbed fer hours. I swear it do be true, me friends! From the lips o' truth to yer achin' ears."

Another mumble.

"Ah, well, in me most humble opinion, no feller'd never cheat on a woman likes o' her, 'nless she was cold as a fish, an' even then, whew! Meself, I'd face a ghoulish death to get me 'ands on those…."

"Alright, bucko. You've said more than your piece. Change your subject or leave." Enough was enough. Cain turned in his seat to face the group, and recognized Hue Jacobs at the table, a dependable Tin Man if not a high ranking one, sitting next to that idiot Barry Bowstoin, his mouth open and blabbing rumors for all to hear. Kip Roerick and Turin Anderson rounded out the bunch.

"He's not sharing it to the world, Cain," Hue tried to placate. "We're all Tin Men, here. We wouldn't let Bowstoin spout off like this elsewhere, you know that."

Cain gave them a hard look and took another sip of the dwindling whiskey. "You should still show some respect. That woman's our queen."

Bowstoin gave an irritating guffaw. "I bet _you'd_ like ta show that _woman_ some 'spect, woul'n't ya, _old man_."

Cain could feel Bowstoin's drunken leer in his bones, and his muscles tensed from shoulders to toes as a flash of rage twisted through. He swiftly threw the tumbler back on the counter and stood to face the group, his eyes cold and steady as stone.

"Now, Cain, hold it a minute. Bowstoin's drippin' drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying."

Cain ignored Hue.

"You'd better watch what you let out of your mouth, boy." Cain loomed over to their table, leaning on his fists so that his face was directly in front of Bowstoin's foul breath, their eyes level. The man looked shocked at Cain's sudden anger, but quickly covered it with a cocky self-assuredness that, in Cain's opinion, reeked of the foolishness of the young and soon to suffer.

"I on'y speak what's reckoned ta be true, don' I?" He had the gall to lean in closer to Cain, as if he were calling his bluff.

The others had a better sense of Cain's ire, and leaned back in their chairs as far as they could.

Cain growled threateningly, not letting his eyes leave Bowstoin's. "It seems to me that you and the truth have a pretty rocky relationship, bucko." The throbbing vein in his neck contrasted ominously with his quiet voice.

Bowstoin laughed contemptuously. "Ya know I be right. I hear that ya get yerself some o' 'er…"—he made a lewd gesture—"ever summat oft'n. Youbeen in that witch's briefs fer years, ain't ya?"

The loud screech of chairs sliding heavily against the floorboards startled Bowstoin; he didn't have the wits to move before Cain whipped around the table, fisted his sweat-stained shirt in one hand, and threw him up against the wall with a loud roar. The two men struggled for a moment, sending the delicate wooden plaques banging and cracking to the ground, but the older officer quickly gained the upper hand, thrusting his right arm up to hold Bowstoin's shoulders pinned to the wall and using his left to rip the man's gun out of its holster, check the safety, and send it sliding across the floor. Both were breathing hard with the rush of the fight, but Bowstoin grimaced in fear, and Cain kept his face steady against the anger that threatened to overtake him and, consequently, his enemy.

Bowstoin's gambling buddies stood in a line behind Cain, Hue and Turin with their arms crossed and a hard resignation on their faces, and Kip with a twisted show of teeth—the feral grin of a man hoping for blood.

"I'm going to say this once, you foul, embarrassing excuse for a Tin Man, and then I'm never going to say it again. You say what you want about me. I've got no need for a reputation or for respect from the likes of you. You're a fool of a gunslinger who'll end up shot dead decades before Hue, here, and I lay down our badges; you're a fool and you don't matter. But you _will_ show the queen respect. If you have thoughts about her, thoughts about her and someone else—hell, thoughts about _thinking_ about her—you're going to keep them between yourself and that blessed bullet that brings your death. And if I hear even a whisper of these types of stories running through the ranks—and I don't care _how_ they start—I'm going to hunt you down and I _won't_ give you a second chance. Do you understand me?"

Bowstoin heaved and gulped, trying to gain enough control over his lungs to answer. He was a man who, until this moment, had believed blindly in his own cocky invincibility and who had been explosively and brutally proven the fool. He wasn't able to ground out an answer fast enough for Cain.

He shoved him against the wall again impatiently. "Do you understand me,_ Tin Man_?"

"Ye…ye, yes! I do. I…I do understand ye!" Bowstoin was still heaving for breath, caught between Cain's iron arm and the unforgiving wall, but with a final grunt, Cain dropped him. He fell to the floor in a scrambling heap.

Cain stood tensely, and the rest of the bar followed suit, unwilling to break the silence until the man's wrath had uncoiled. When Cain did move, he calmly stepped toward the bar and pulled out his wallet to pay for the whiskey. Bit by bit, the room pulled itself back to habit; the card players, setting up their chairs and resuming their game, ignored Bowstoin completely.

"Sorry about that, Bob." Cain's voice was gruff; though he looked wholly unmoved, he was obviously still battling his anger.

"Well, I'd agree that you should be sorry, Wyatt, but even I can admit that the fool asked for it." Grumming saw the amount of money Cain was pulling out of the leather pouch and waved his hands. "No, no. Those plaques are worthless, you know it well as I. You did me a favor getting rid of that monstrous green one. Can't just throw 'em out, the Mystic Man sending 'em my way and all, years ago, but they're ugly enough to make a grown man sob in shame every time he opens shop."

Cain knew Grumming treasured those gifts, but understood the sentiment. He grinned stonily and opened his mouth to answer, but was silenced by a call from the door.

"Cain! Mr. Wyatt Cain!"

Both Cain and Grumming looked towards the stairs that led up to the street level. A young kid in the garb of a Tin Man, still pock-faced and gangly, peered eagerly into the pub. Cain gave Grumming a look and moved towards the boy.

"I'm your man."

"Yessir. The Judician has requested your presence up at midtown, sir."

Cain's eyes narrowed. "Did he say why?"

"No…no, sir." The young Tin Man looked as eager and nervous as a retriever pup. "But he wanted you right away."

"All right, then. Thank you for the message…." He gestured for the boy's name.

"Roger, sir. Roger Duchamps." Roger glowed under the older and, frankly, famous Tin Man's recognition. Cain could see that he needed to have his star-struck, Tin-Man-the-hero fantasies snuffed out as quickly and efficiently as possible. Gumming's pub would suit to start.

"Well, thank you, Roger. Hey, go grab an ale. First one's free." He caught Grumming's attention one last time, miming that he should put the young officer's drink on his tab, and the barkeep nodded back. Looking at Roger again, he added, "Any of these guys will let you in their next deal, I'm sure. Just stay away from that idiot Bowstoin peeling himself off the floor, there. He's no good."

With a serious nod to the new Tin Man, Cain leapt up the stairs to reclaim his mount, consciously ignoring Bowstoin as the bastard slunk his way, alone, out the front door of the _Aluminium_. In a painful moment of resigned self-awareness, Cain knew that the next time he had a quiet hour with himself and his thoughts, he'd have to tend to the old wound that Bowstoin had so carelessly torn open.

Until that hour, he had work to do.

* * *

Author's note: Hi, all! I truly hope you've enjoyed this. I _promise_ that this is an SGA crossover; the story just happens to commence in the Outer Zone. Because I'm an unfortunately busy graduate student, I can only promise to update once a week. However, if things come together quickly, I might be able to move faster than that.

Please do send me your thoughts, ideas and criticisms. Reviews are so very much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2: Silver Boots

Author's Note:

And…this is the chapter that sweeps the SGA crew into the tale.

I've been thinking. This really _is _a Tin-Man-heavy story, so I might move it over to that community. It depends on y'all's response to this chapter. If it would make you sad to see it moved, make sure you let me know.

And, hey! Thanks for reading!

* * *

Katie kept her gaze down, hiding a tell-tale smile behind her hazard mask as she walked away from the Stargate. After taking a moment to let the blush fade from her cheeks, she took a better look at her surroundings. Tall, dry grass tangled at her feet and whipped around her thighs, but she just couldn't make herself follow the example of Ronon, stomping on ahead of her and raising his knees high in an effort to keep from being tripped by the weed's tenacious strands. An endless field of gold danced in the breeze, dotted sporadically by short trees and the green and blue tufts of sturdy bushes. Mountains could be seen against the clear sky—so far in the distance she could hardly see the snow that tipped their peaks. 

"What was that all about?" Jennifer Keller's eyes gleamed conspiratorially as she walked a little closer. The blush that Katie had worked so hard to dispel crept back up her neck.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Katie." Jennifer nudged her good-naturedly. "You know…back at the 'gate."

"Oh…oh that." Katie gave a nervous little laugh. "It was nothing. Rodney is just a little…worried. I don't think he's used to seeing me off-world."

"Does Rodney not remember that research away from Atlantis is a major requirement of your work?" Teyla's sudden presence surprised her; the Athosian took her other side, walking with the same, comic stomp as Ronon.

The four of them were searching out a peculiar periwinkle flower that had been spotted by Major Lorne's scout team. It had been found hidden timidly among the grasses, and they had brought back a sample. Dr. Marcus Monroe, after spending only ten minutes with it, had declared "This could be it! The cure for male pattern baldness!" Half of Atlantis had celebrated quietly in their various labs. An hour later, when both he and the team member who had stuffed the petal into the vial had been confined to the infirmary because the inner linings of their lungs were painfully inflamed, Dr. Keller had recommended that the plant be tested on-site before they brought more back to Atlantis. Colonel Carter had agreed.

"He knows." Katie was again having a difficult time holding in that tell-tale smile, and was terribly thankful for the mask. "He's…well, he's…." She itched to share that he had lately been especially attentive, making excuses to see her more and more since the Kiersind Fever ordeal, and most especially since he had returned from helping his sister, and that she found it all quite endearing, but she was certain that Rodney would not want her to share such things with others. Teyla seemed to understand her loss for words and finished for her.

"Ah. Rodney McKay is a complex man."

Katie sent a thankful grin back her way that showed in her crinkled eyes.

From far ahead, Ronon called. "Hey! I think I found it!"

"Put your gloves on, Ronon!" Jennifer yelled up to him. The three women stopped and pulled elbow-length gloves from their packs.

As they made their way to where the Satedan was standing, Jennifer nudged her again. "I think it's cute."

* * *

Rodney and Colonel Sheppard had set off in the other direction.

Lorne's team had also investigated a derelict little shack about a mile from the 'gate, attempting to locate an energy signature that continued to elude them despite their scientist's best efforts. After two hours of listening to a semi-constant barrage of self-important whining, Lorne had finally dragged Dr. Yu back through the 'gate, stating, "If you haven't found it by now, Doc, you're not gonna."

John could certainly understand the Major's plight.

Adjusting his sunglasses against the harsh sun, he sighed, letting McKay's mask-muffled rant wash over him as they walked.

"I mean, really. Three out of seven trips. And our last three were cake-walks. The best we can hope for is a fifty-fifty chance, here!"

"Wait," John interrupted. "You've been rating our missions? You've got the odds figured out every time we go through the 'gate?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Hello, genius here, and it doesn't take _me_ to figure out that we're a bit catastrophe-prone. I simply like to know the likelihood of returning in one piece before I leave."

"And you didn't tell _me_?"

"Why would I tell you? You'd still force me to go." McKay's eyes narrowed. "Uh-_huh. _You just want to win a few of those bets you've got going with Major Johnson."

"C'mon, Rodney. I'd share the spoils."

"No, no. That's the last thing we should be worried about right now." The two slowed as they came up on the rotting shack. Little yellow flowers and long strands of the ever-present grass burst from a complex web of seams in the foundation, the empty door frame, and the glassless windowsills. McKay pulled the energy detector from his pocket and buried his mask in it, pressing the touchscreen rapidly with the stylus. "We need to finish this quickly so we can go join the others."

"They're _fine_, McKay. There's nothing on this planet but bugs and flowers and grass. Oh my!" He added the last with a sarcastic flare of his hands. "And besides, Teyla and Ronon are perfectly capable of taking care of Keller and Brown."

"Yes, well, what happens when the danger _isn't_ ray-gun packing, life-sucking aliens, but a catastrophe that requires a scientist, _like me_, to _think_ everyone to safety? What then, Commando? I'm telling you, I'll be much happier when we're all together. Or better yet, when we're all back on Atlantis." McKay looked up at John. "You know, we could go back right now. Beat the odds."

John leaned on the doorframe—the only part of the building that seemed sturdy enough to handle his weight—and watched McKay as began to hover in one corner of the shack. "I thought you had all this…coward…stuff worked out."

That raised an offended squawk and John smiled.

"I am _not_ a coward. I'm a pragmatist. Admit it, Sheppard. We've been cursed by Murphy and his minions. And Katie's out here, her life hanging by a precarious thread of chance—chance that hardly ever seems to go our way, might I add—because Sam wouldn't listen to me."

"She listened to you. She just didn't agree."

"Well, she should have."

John was momentarily quiet, sending a knowing look Rodney's way—one that the scientist didn't see because he was looking up and down, and then back again to the energy detector in confusion.

"You really like her, don't you?" John asked suddenly.

McKay looked up, distracted. He seemed to grasp for some sort of come back, perhaps Kirk-related, but found none and turned away. "Yes…yes, I suppose I do."

There wasn't much John could say to that; he didn't usually care to dig into things that Rodney didn't want to talk about. Mostly because there were so many _other_ topics that he just wouldn't shut up about. Like the incompetence of others.

Which was now the topic of McKay's current rant as he squatted down to brush dirt away from the splintered floor. John moved to lean over him and watch.

"I told him to think _outside_ the box, and what did he do? _He forgot to look down._ He's a brilliant engineer, quick and efficient, usually, but this is absolutely unforgivable. We could have been with the others right now if he'd just taken a moment to think... Here, help me with this."

The floor panel tore easily away, causing McKay to land ungracefully on his rear and John to cough at the now-floating dust. McKay scrambled to his knees and peered into the hole they'd uncovered.

A small box, square, covered in dust and no bigger than John's palm, lay untouched in the swirling shadows. McKay looked at John and then reached in gingerly to pick it up.

"Huh, it's light." He took a reading with the energy detector, and muttered, "This is definitely it."

He blew lightly over the top of the box to dispel some of the muck; a light layer poofed up, but the rest of it clung as though it had always been there. McKay stood and moved over to his pack, digging with one hand and pulling out a small paintbrush. "This might take a while…."

After about fifteen minutes of preoccupied quiet on Rodney's part, John offered to take a stab at loosening the dirt.

"Yes, well, be careful. Whatever it is, you don't want to set it off before we know what it does."

John took the box and the brush, and gave it a good gaze. McKay had pretty much cleaned off one side, and had a good start on another. It was formed from thin veins of a dull, dark metal that wrapped itself together in an intricate cubical knot, so dense that he couldn't see through the cracks to determine what was in the middle.

"You know, this kinda looks like a miniature Borg ship."

"Huh. Yeah, I thought that too," Rodney replied.

He started where McKay had left off, but in a few minutes noticed something interesting buried in that particular side. He didn't say anything, though, until it was completely uncovered.

"Would ya look at that…."

"What? What did you find?" McKay came up next to him and squinted down at the box.

Shimmering silver glimmered up at them, set deep within the cube, but curiously not covered by the winding metal. It formed two tiny figures that were so familiar, and yet so out of context, that John was at a loss for words.

Rodney wasn't. "Are those…boots?"

And they were—delicate, doll-sized silver boots that, had they been made to fit humans, would have gone right up to a woman's knees. "Neat…." John reached out to touch them.

"Sheppard, wait!"

A bright flash threw them a few feet, and they landed heavily on the floor. An instantaneous howl cut through the shack, drowning out the clattering of the falling box. Rodney sent him a horrified look. The sides of the building were buffeted by a strong wind as John gained his footing, and a quick glance through the window had him rushing to pull McKay to his feet.

"C'mon, Rodney, we've got to get out of here. No, leave the stuff, let's go!!"

McKay struggled a little until John dragged him through the door. Then he looked to the right.

A monstrous cyclone, at least twenty times as high as the nearest tree and already full of debris, was bearing down on them like the vengeful and almighty finger of God.

"What _is_ it with you and touching things!" Rodney yelled as they ripped off their masks and scrambled back towards the gate.

John, just behind him and trying not to fall in the snagging grass, radioed the others. "Ronon, get everyone back to the 'gate. _Now!_"

The shack dissolved in a fit of wooden shards, its frail structure holding no hope against the massive gale.

* * *

"Move!" Ronon bellowed, and when Teyla glanced up sharply, she saw why.

Ronon yanked Jennifer by the shoulders and threw her to her feet in front of him, and Teyla did the same with Katie. The four were soon cutting desperately through the dry vegetation towards the Stargate.

The wind roared and the grasses lapped furiously at her legs, trying to take her down. Lifting her head for a moment to check their status, she yelled in frustration.

"We're not going to make it!" Teyla screamed to the others. "It's coming directly for us!"

She whipped around wildly, looking for a ditch, or something, anything, to use as an anchor.

"There's nothing!" Jennifer yelled, her voice almost lost in the storm.

"Quick! Hold on to each other!"

"That's not going to work!"

"It is the only thing we can do!! It is upon us!"

Ronan settled the argument by turning and grabbing both Teyla and Jennifer, leaving the two of them to hold to Katie. They all pressed themselves as flat as possible to the ground, their heads together and their arms intertwined. Teyla steeled herself as she felt the twister dance closer, gritting her teeth and struggling to breathe against the force of the wind.

* * *

"We're almost there!" Rodney screamed, mostly to himself, since he doubted John could hear him over the whipping and rumbling storm.

To his surprise, however, John called back, his voice cutting in and out through the wind. "It's changed directions! It's not following us anymore!"

McKay turned his head to look, and let out a cry as his gut twisted in fear. The twister was bearing down on the other half of the team.

Without thinking, he changed course and ran towards the heart of the storm. "Katie!!"

"Rodney, no!" John cursed inwardly as he swerved to catch the scientist and missed. "Stop!" He turned and followed, intending to pounce on McKay as soon as he was near. "Are you _insane_!"

But try as he might, Rodney was able to keep at least five feet ahead of him. If it had just been himself, he would have given in to the same reaction, but at this point, they could do nothing for the rest of the team, and all he could hope for was to save Atlantis's most important scientist—and his friend—from the tempest.

By the time they neared the group, the four were already caught, releasing ferocious yells as they rose into the air in a circle, their legs haphazardly splayed behind them. He was no nearer to Rodney than he had been minutes before.

Rodney jumped after them and lifted into the overpowering wind. John cursed. He had no choice but to leap, fortunately securing both arms tightly around McKay's leg and holding it to his chest in an iron grip.

* * *

Katie yelled, but she couldn't hear the sound coming from her mouth. She was terrified; she'd studied weather patterns briefly while at university, and she knew they were going to die. But there was nothing for it but to hold on and bellow as the wind threw them upside down and sideways, every moment a toss closer to their death. A particularly strong gust ripped her arm from Jennifer's; Teyla was the only one holding her to the group, now, but Katie was too frightened to care.

Something snagged her leg and she forced herself to look down the length of her body. "Rodney!" He had latched on to her boot with one hand, but at that moment, a burst of wayward wind pulled him to the side, yanking her with him before his hand slipped from her foot. Katie's grip on Teyla failed and she screamed again. The twister twirled, tossed and whirled her until she threw up, fighting to rid the bile from her mouth as the wind tried to stuff it back in.

Her terror was cut short when a slab of splintered wood smashed into her head.

* * *

So, there it is! The SGA half of the cast have made their appearance. You know the little button below that says "Go"? Give it a click. I heart reviews. 


	3. Chapter 3: Not on M24559 anymore

Chapter 3: Not on M24-559 anymore

The oppressive heat of early autumn had released the land several weeks prior, leaving in its wake a cascading curtain of falling orange-red-brown and a cool breeze. In the dwindling daylight, the Emerald Palace reared high above the lake, its powerful towers immovable and brave as they guarded the nearby Central City. To some, it whispered hope and peace on the winds that trickled through the capital's streets; to Cain, the sight of its sleek, stone walls and watching windows was a source of anxious disquiet.

He hadn't seen the queen in over three annuals, not since…well, it wouldn't do to dwell on it now. He had not disclosed why he was leaving, but had used his son, Jeb, as an excuse. Surely the young commander would need advising in his new role as head of the Tin Men; Wyatt Cain was specifically suited to play the part. And Jeb _had_ needed the help, and Wyatt hadgiven it, and the land was better for it. The police force was now over two hundred strong and run by a knot of reliable, steadfast men and women—an upstanding body of the law. The Tin Men brought justice across the whole of the O.Z., from desert to enchanted desert and ice-covered mountains to the Realm of the Unwanted. He was as proud of Jeb as a father could ever be.

Of course, that same son had traitorously commanded that he pay a visit to the queen, and Cain had not been able to pry a reason out of him. And because he could not tell Jeb about the awkward situation he was sending his father into, there was nothing for it but to suck it up and face the woman.

The uneasy Tin Man ground his teeth in annoyance as a pretentious, brightly-dressed fop steered him through a labyrinth of hallways, blathering on haughtily about how the honored guest should bow low, address the queen always with an honorific, and remain two steps behind Her Majesty should they walk anywhere. Listening with half an ear, and begrudging even that, Cain took the opportunity to scrutinize the men who guarded the halls—some Tin Men and others in the private employ of the crown—nodding grimly to those he recognized.

If the outside of the castle exuded strength and solidarity, the interior radiated a grace and beauty that, had he been one for such finery, would have had him open-mouthed in awe. The finest artists, architects, inventors and masons had been drawn together to build this monument, and though it was inhabited by the royal family, it was a gift to their land, a lasting symbol of the O.Z.'s resilience and colorful diversity. The halls stretched around him in a delicate maze, and he carefully noted the path his guide took so as to not get lost.

Finally, a high double doorway set in silver was the only barrier between him and the woman he'd walked away from those annuals ago. He removed his wide-brimmed hat, holding it to his chest, while his escort consulted quietly with another servant, a dark-haired woman dressed less vibrantly but just as expensively. The doors flew open with a flourish.

"Your Highness, may I present the Tin Man, Wyatt Cain."

And there she was, the Queen Dorothy Gaele, magnificent in an ice-blue gown and wearing her jeweled diadem—the Emerald Garland—upon her rich, carefully coiled hair. The soft, ethereal light of ten chandeliers gathered around her in adoration as she sat upon her intricately embroidered throne, touching upon her skin like a caress and reflecting back off it in wondrous purity. Cain's breath caught painfully where his fedora covered his heart.

She appeared to react not at all to his presence, but as he strode to the center of the impressively large room he caught her eye, and the look they shared was penetrating and deep. Her eyes lingered, deep and blue and anguished, and in a startlingly clear moment, the sparkling chandeliers, her dress, her crown, her milling retinue—none of it mattered. His composure deserted him briefly, and instead of bowing as he should, he knelt on one knee, his head low and his hands clutching his dull, gray hat over his breast; it was an ancient gesture of reverence, something he had only read of in books as a child, but an act that the moment seemed to require.

"Welcome, Mr. Cain." Her voice was soft but sure, and his heart quickened at its lilt.

"Majesty," was all he could say by way of response, his face still bowed.

He heard some rustling and lifted his eyes; she had risen and was calmly gesturing for him to do the same. He stood, their gaze locking once more.

"Johann Sebastian." She addressed her nearest advisor without taking her eyes from the Tin Man, "Mr. Cain is my last appointment for the day, correct?"

The man blinked and looked over his severely pointed nose at the notebook that was stretched out before him. "Actually, Highness…." He stopped as she sent an authoritative eye his way. "Uh, that is correct, Highness. He is your final audience."

"Good." She glanced at Cain again, quickly this time so as not to hazard a scene, and gestured for him to walk with her. "That will be all for the day, then, gentlemen. You may retire." She paused and held up a steady hand to her bodyguard. "You as well, Thomas. I'll be perfectly safe with Mr. Cain for the next few hours."

The burly, uniformed guard gave the queen a bow and then shot Cain a hard, meaningful look. Cain returned it with one of his own and Thomas nodded, turning resolutely to go about whatever business needed doing.

The queen and the Tin Man walked in silence for several minutes, climbing flights of white marble stairs that echoed with the click of her shoes and the faint swish of her silk skirt. It wasn't a tense silence, though it was uncomfortable, and Cain found himself atypically unnerved. Three annuals had passed between them, and she was unbearably quiet—unbearably regal and exquisitely beautiful. He took a deep breath, loosening the tension that had coiled in his gut; he would not let his treacherous heart dictate his thoughts this evening.

Finally, as they passed from the stairs and turned down a hallway whose stunning arches were adorned with bright and elaborate tile mosaics, she spoke, softly, not turning to look at him. "It's good to be free of my guards and in the presence of a friend."

Cain swallowed and nodded, not saying a word, cold relief washing away an anxiety that had festered in secret at the root of his disquiet. They _were_ friends.

* * *

Rodney yelled as the gale rammed him into something solid, rough and resolute. A moment of pained wheezing followed, and then a horrifying realization had him scrambling at the tree with both hands, hoping for and failing to find traction. The wind had died down with a rapid betrayal, and Sheppard's weight on his leg was pulling him to the forest floor far below. 

Both men bellowed anew, eventually landing with winded grunts on the uneven piles of pebbles and leaves that lay strewn across the dirt. They lay there, wheezing and wincing, peering through the branches above to catch a shy patch of weakly blue sky, clear and calm and cloudless as though there had never been a storm.

John was the first one up, groaning and shaking out his arms, numb from hanging on so desperately to Rodney. He turned in a circle, eyes sharp; his hands took stock of his uniform, registering a radio and the Beretta that had miraculously remained snapped into its holster. His P-90 was unfortunately lost in the storm, as was his IDC and most of the other provisions that had been stuffed in his pockets. "I wonder where it dropped us…."

Rodney was dragging himself to his feet, leaning over and propping his arms on his hands to wheeze. Before he caught his breath, however, he threw John a pained look and started bellowing.

"Katie!" His voice died quickly in the fallen brush, though he did startle a flock of unprepared sparrows into chaotic flight.

John took another look around, still breathing hard, and put the radio to his mouth. "Teyla? Ronon?"

Only static. Rodney was starting to stumble through the long shadows of the forest, bellowing for Dr. Brown. John tried again.

"Teyla? Ronon?" Pause. "Dr. Brown? Keller? This is Sheppard, come in."

Nothing—just the disappointing crackle of white noise in an otherwise silent expanse of trees. He sighed in frustration and called to his teammate. "McKay! Hey!"

"No…no, she's got to be…. Katie!"

John jogged up to him and caught him by the arm just as the scientist was fitting to let loose another shout. He looked at McKay intensely, simultaneously checking his friend for injury and communicating that he understood Rodney's fear.

A deep horror grew in the pit of Rodney's stomach at Sheppard's stare; the team was lost. The storm…they had no idea where any of them were. He fought an impending panic, breathing deep and taking a more careful look around. They had to be a terrifying distance from the 'gate; the landscape was nothing like what they had left behind. The trees were thick and crowding, and a familiar claustrophobia was kicking in on top of everything else. John seemed to understand his situation and started to walk away, hoping to distract him.

"C'mon. Let's keep looking."

* * *

An old man with white, scraggly mustaches and a distinctively sharp nose sat in a padded chair behind a comfortable—though not by any means large—desk, and when the queen slowed at the adjacent doors instead of passing, Cain assumed that this must be their destination. She smiled as she reached the gentleman, and he rose to greet her, bowing as low as his aged body would allow. 

"Good evening, Anicius."

"Your Grace." His voice was gravely and hoarse, and he gave her a kind smile.

"Have Master Igor send up the usual—for two, please. And some applesauce. Remind him that he's not serving twenty, or he'll try to send a feast again."

"Of course, Your Grace." Anicius moved to open the doors to where, apparently, her living quarters were kept.

"Oh," she added as she glided through the archway, "you can have the rest of the evening to yourself. I'll have Mr. Cain grab Thomas for me when he leaves."

Anicius bowed again, slowly. "Yes, thank you, Majesty."

And with that, Cain found himself closed within a large white sitting room that faced a balcony, its windows overlooking a dense copse of forest and its walls dotted with portraits and murmuring timepieces. In the distance the speckled yellow of the Old Road was barely discernable in the fading light.

The queen sighed loudly and fairly ripped the Emerald Garland from her hair—though she used both hands and tremendous care in doing so. "Oh, am I _so_ glad this day is over. And before you go lecturing me on wasting manpower on things I could do like _that_," she snapped her fingers, "all by myself, I'll have you know I've tried. I've tried and tried. But the last time I took a sneak down to the kitchens to fix a bite to eat, poor Igor nearly lost his head in hysterics; he thought I hated his cooking! He served me headcheese and oysters with every meal for a _month_."

Cain looked at her blankly. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to the suddenly unfettered chatter of…the queen. "Headcheese, Your Highness?"

She huffed dramatically, holding the crown in one hand and pulling off her jeweled heels with the other, barely keeping herself from an unsightly stumble in her haste. "Yes. It's this _awful_ pate…brains and feet and tongue and all sorts of gross…_stuff_. I was so afraid of offending him again that I actually forced myself to eat a little each time."

Her sudden…_DG-ness_…left him perplexed and even more uncertain than before, but he couldn't help the telltale twitch that threatened at the corners of his lips. He covered with a clearing of his throat and a humble, "How terrible for you, Majesty."

"Oh, have your laugh, _Tin Man_. If I didn't find something to laugh about every night, I don't think I could do this…."

She stopped. The air felt abruptly uncomfortable, as though it was weighted down with the innumerable and suffocating worries of the monarchy. The queen looked at him quietly for a moment, and then forced a smile. Her voice was somewhat strained when she spoke again.

"Hey, you know what? I'm going to change out of this elegant _torture _device and into something a bit less stiff. Hang out in here for a few minutes until the food arrives, and then bring it through _that_," she pointed to an unmarked passageway to the left, "door. Okay?"

Again, the sudden informality left him confused, and he settled for merely nodding with his hat once again respectfully tucked to his chest.

She disappeared through the door, and the room felt empty.

* * *

The two Atlantians fought their way through the autumn-browned plant life, looking for signs of life and shouting names intermittently, Rodney's voice breaking in anxiety. He felt close to tears, but whatever happened, he couldn't break down; he _had_ to find Katie. He could only hope she wasn't…. 

John stopped suddenly, looking confusedly through a rare clearing in the shedding trees; Rodney followed his gaze.

There, in the sky, setting large and with a majestic flourish of color, were _two _suns.

"I don't think we're on M24-559 anymore, McKay."

_

* * *

Hi, all! See that _beautiful_ button at the bottom of the screen? Click it and tell me what you think. I heart reviews._

A More Extended Author's Note:

I had a more difficult time with this one. This is the first time I've tried to write ship…_ever_…and I find that it's tricky to write emotional material for a character that is obviously very passionate, but completely and utterly undemonstrative. So…let me know how you think I did with that. And send ship-writing advice if you have it, 'cause there _might_ just be more to come.

And…Happy New Year! Plus a day or two. _mh_


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